EXHIBITIONSZhou Yilun: 23%

“二割三分” (にわりさんぷん/Niwari Sanpun), which literally means 23% in Japanese, is a Japanese jargon used in the process of sake making. For the purpose of refining quality, rice will be polished to 23% of its original volume before vintage. In Japanese, “割” and “分” are both measure words; “二割” means 20%, and “三分” means 3%. However, “割” and “分” are both verbs meaning cutting in Chinese (the same characters as in Japanese). When the artist names this exhibition as “二割三分”, the mis-reading of it in Chinese delivers the exact concept of the new works — by cutting and restructuring his previous paintings,  the “quintessence” in his eyes is created.

In Zhou’s daily work, he displayed more interest in “the disposed” rather than “the essential”, and enjoyed exploring more possibilities as well as creating better value from “the residual”. The works shown in this exhibition are cut and reproduced from the works that are unfinished or unsatisfying to the artist in his studio. Zhou decided to cut off the “subject images” — “There is nothing more than figures. I’ve re-painted them many times, but still not satisfying. Therefore, I would rather cut them off, and as a result, the rest becomes a lot better.” (Zhou) The Artist gets rid of the “quintessence” in the traditional context of pictures and attaches the aluminium plates behind the canvas, so the backgrounds from the original works have become the core of the pictures as a new series of paintings.

During the creative process, Zhou is accustomed to “profligate” all the remaining brush paints on an idle board or canvas. These “doodling images”, which he made by getting the most out of the paints, construct his new “subject images”. By cutting the subjects and attaching aluminium plates as backgrounds, the random images of Zhou’s casual brush-wiping have turned into a complete work. The two works, What You Need Is A Thorough Reforming and Why There Are So Many Things We Can’t Remember, which were created in this way, recall the concept of “二割三分”. Nevertheless, “making waste valuable by accident” doesn’t work all the time. “I thought it was a great way to go, but actually it was too pretentious. I ruined several pieces when I continued with this method.” (Zhou) From Zhou’s perspective, how to discern the “quintessence” has become a significant question. What are “wastes”? What are “essentials”? Both depend on the artist’s control over momentary occasionality.

Apart from the paintings, the exhibition will also present Zhou’s new “furnitures”. He has been appropriating ready-mades and has made various products already, which can be associated with his hobbies of remaking outfits and reproducing home accessories. This can be traced back to Dadaism and the increasingly prevalent street brand culture in China, or even regarded as one of his personal entrepreneurial projects. Zhou’s particular method of production embodies some of his consistent playful and hippie attitude. “I made those for myself in the beginning, and I wasn’t willing to sell, but now I’m glad that I didn’t sell those terrible works.” (Zhou) However, he still has to worry about these “artworks” in market circulation while he is trying to be a “professional” player. “The disturbing problem now is how much should I sell?” (Zhou)